Rick came over for lunch this afternoon and I made noodles. He's trapped in a marriage with children and has only recently come to terms with being gay. All I can do is be there as an understanding ear. I could never be empathetic because I can't can't imagine myself in his situation, but part of me wonders if it's because I don't want to imagine it. Am I simply afraid to deal with it? His face is like an open floodgate and it's hard to believe that he could manage any sort of bold-faced lie without the truth flooding through his water-blue eyes. His story makes me feel fortunate to be where I am.

I have to work the part-time job tonight and I'm dreading it. This frustration always wells up when I realize my evening hours have been sequestered, although it quickly vanishes once I actually get there. The job isn't difficult, and I do enjoy interacting with the people. Had my evening been planned like any other free evening this week, I'd most likely be spending it by going home and putzing around anyway, so the key is to suck it up and get it over with.

No situation is purely good?beneficial, convenient, what you want?or purely bad?harmful, self-defeating, pointless. Whenever I couldn't make up my mind regarding a difficult decision, my dad would sit me down with a piece of paper and a Bic pen. "Draw a line down the middle," he'd say, and on each side of the paper, I'd scribble out the "pro's" and "con's" in my awkward, childish script. While the column with the most didn't necessarily always win out, it taught me utilitarianism in a way that has seeped under my skin and affected my very ability to let things take their course. Could this be the source of my overanalytic nature that seeks to always find the path towards the greatest good? «

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